


Moonlit Run

by abluevixen (knightofbows)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6541258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightofbows/pseuds/abluevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles joins the Hales for their regular full moon run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlit Run

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of one of my prompts from my 30-Day Challenge, partly by popular demand, partly because I'm interested in continuing their story.
> 
> I've also tagged this as "underage" because Stiles is clearly in high school, and in _Binoculars_ , I establish that Derek is "a few years older." So the tag is really just for safety's sake, since Derek's age isn't established.

When he took his medication, Stiles had laser focus. He typed furiously at his laptop, clicking between browser tabs, and checked his textbooks for reference. With his back against the edge of his bed, he sat on the floor, surrounded by books and notes. The paper was due in a few days, but he also had plans in a few days. So he was focused. _Laser focused_.

Until Derek groaned.

Stiles looked away from his computer, pen cap held precariously between his lips, and watched Derek’s face contort in discomfort while he rolled his shoulder. “You okay?” he asked, taking the cap from his mouth.

“Just achy,” Derek answered.

The bed squeaked as Derek turned onto his back, the springs a little old beneath the padding. His head hung just over Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles obligingly reached up to card his fingers through his hair. Derek’s answering hum made him smile.

He never thought he’d find anything in his fascination with the local preserve’s wolf family. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d get a few photos once he got a camera. Instead, he found Derek and an entirely different perspective on the world.

Stiles glanced to the calendar hanging on the wall. “Full moon?” he asked. When Derek gave an affirmative grunt, he said, “It’s still a few days off. This is early for you.”

For as long as Stiles had known him, the days leading up to the full moon were always rough on Derek—something about not having enough control over his shift, of his wolf being wild. Talia tried to explain it to him once, how Derek might be dangerous, how Stiles would be safer away from him.

Derek had sat beside his mother with his head lowered, anxiously fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweater, while Stiles sat in a chair opposite in the Hales’ living room. It was shortly after a sleep-over incident involving certain werewolf claws and a certain favorite pillow. Stiles had initially been upset—“What the hell, Derek?!”—but the fear in Derek’s eyes had shaken him far worse than seeing Derek’s claws.

Their official sleep-overs became less frequent near the full moon, but it didn’t stop Derek from sometimes sneaking in through Stiles’ window.

Stiles never worried, though, not really. Derek wouldn’t hurt him, and Stiles’ dad worked long hours. Stiles only ever worried about Derek’s discomfort, about Derek scaring himself again.

“I know,” Derek sighed. “It sucks.”

“Maybe you should head home,” Stiles suggested, though he felt betrayed by his own words. He didn’t want Derek to leave. He _hated_ when Derek left. “Being with your pack might help it some.”

“Being with my pack helps it a lot,” Derek replied. “But I’m not ready to go home.”

“You’ll have to,” Stiles said, biting his lip nervously. “Eventually.”

“I’ll be alright,” Derek insisted. “If I could just maybe…if I…?”

“Hmm?”

“Stiles.”

Derek pouted; Stiles could see it from the corner of his eye, so he laughed. “That again? Sure. Knock yourself out, dude.” With his permission came Derek’s warm hand against his cheek, fingers hooking beneath his jaw to pull him close. Derek pressed his nose against Stiles’ temple in a soft nuzzle. His slow, steady breaths lulled them both into a near meditative state.

It was weird, how Derek did this, but Stiles liked it. Sometimes, he needed it.

A wolf thing.

It reminded Stiles of Talia’s comfort in the middle of the night, when he wandered Beacon Hills in his sleep. A large, black wolf with glowing red eyes, she’d find him, barefoot and cold, and press her nose against his hairline or his cheek to ease him awake. Sometimes Stiles would cry, others he’d startle with a gasp. But he always buried his fingers in Talia’s thick scruff, so soft and warm, and hugged her until the welling emotion passed. Then, she’d lead him home, safe and sound, like she always did.

After his mother died, Stiles had more trouble sleeping, less of an appetite. Grief was this big, insurmountable thing he often just tried to ignore. But the panic attacks, the sleep-walking, the night terrors—those were things he couldn’t ignore, invasive as ever five years later. Talia looked out for him, though, when his father couldn’t; she was enough of a mother to give Stiles what he sometimes lacked. And he had Derek, too. He always had Derek.

Derek’s thumb stroked his cheek as he murmured into Stiles’ hair, “Will I see you on the full moon?”

Stiles huffed a laugh. “Why do you think I’m working so hard on this paper?”

“Good.” Derek grinned against his cheek.

If it wasn’t a wolf thing, it might have been a kiss.

 

###

 

Stiles sat on the back porch of the Hales’ house and nursed a bottle of water. The yard was the vastness of the preserve itself, as the house sat in the middle of the woods with only a worn, dirt path as a driveway. It was quiet, private. If Stiles listened closely, he could hear the chittering of bats fluttering through the trees. It was peaceful.

At the edge of his sight, where the forest faded from gentle moonlight to deep shadow, he could just make out the lupine shapes of Laura and Cora. As if aware of how he watched them, their eyes lit a brilliant amber like lanterns in the dark.

This was their tradition, one Stiles was deeply honored to attend: the full moon run.

Since the hunter attack that inadvertently brought Stiles into the Hales’ supernatural fold, Talia didn’t allow many full-shifted exploits. Her forbiddance did little to dissuade her children completely, but they minded her enough that she let them run the woods on full moons with her blessing…and supervision, of course. Their permitted paths were familiar, and Talia had already faded into the shadows to allow them all a sense of independence.

Derek sat beside Stiles on the porch steps, a bottle of orange soda dangling between his fingers by its neck. He sipped it, sucking a melodic pop as he pulled it from his lips. “You missing anything fun for this?”

Shaking his head, Stiles sighed. He’d never understand why Derek always thought he had better things to do than hang out with the local werewolf pack. He didn’t. He never would, because _werewolves_. And Derek. Mostly Derek, but also, _werewolves_. Stiles shrugged, then set his water bottle beside Derek’s soda. “Scott wanted to hang out, but…” But Scott wasn’t Derek. Scott could never be Derek, or what Derek was to Stiles—something Stiles couldn’t describe, but he knew it was big. Big like his grief and just as scary, but so much _better_. “But it’s the full moon,” Stiles said. “So, of course I’m over there to watch it with you.”

Derek huffed a gentle laugh.

“It’s easiest, okay?” Stiles shrugged again and picked up his water bottle. Pressing his nails beneath the label, he scraped it off in little strips. They soon littered his lap. “I tell my dad the same thing.”

“We can do that, you know,” Derek said. “If you ever wanted to.”

“Do what?” He tore off a particularly sticky piece and spun it into a ball between his fingers.

“We actually have telescopes tucked away in the attic. They’re a little old, but they work.”

Stiles laughed. “Are you serious? That’s so…pedestrian.”

“Nice vacab, Stilinski,” Derek drawled.

Grinning, Stiles said, “I’ve been studying.” Then, he sobered, and kept peeling the bottle’s label. “But really. I wouldn’t take away from your full moons with something like that. You should run. Really. Are you ready to go?” He capped his bottle and straightened, stretching until his back popped deliciously.

“Um, yeah, sure.” He didn’t sound right, and when Stiles looked at him, Derek seemed distracted.

“You okay to?” Stiles frowned. “You must be aching like hell. You should shift while the moon’s still high.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed. He stood and toed off his sneakers, then pushed them aside with a sweep of his foot.

With a smile, Stiles said, “I’ll grab the backpack.” It hung just inside the house on the hooks beside the door, kept there with coats above a pile of shoes; Stiles just opened the door and leaned inside to snag it. When he turned around, Derek was shirtless and in the process of stepping out of his jeans, the muscles of his back casting stark shadows in the scant light. Stiles couldn’t help but stare.

Stiles thought Derek was beautiful even before he knew him. First, as the black wolf pup with sparkling eyes, then later, as a boy, still with the same sparkling eyes. He’d witnessed the Hales enjoy countless full moons—years of full moons, years of watching them shed their clothes and human skin.

Cora was the quickest to strip, often running across the yard naked before leaping into the air and tumbling in the grass through her shift. When she regained her feet and bounded into the woods, she was a wolf. Laura usually wasn’t far behind her. The eldest of the Hale kids and the one responsible for leading the pack in the future, she tended her sister in their mother’s absence. Seeing them so immodestly never bothered Stiles. Even the few times he’d seen Talia transform, Stiles was more fascinated with the lycanthropy than with the nudity—it was just part of being a werewolf, as far as he was concerned

But then there was Derek. Derek was different. Derek had always been different. He stayed behind when his family ran off, every time, to wait for Stiles.

Stiles watched the spot where Derek would have a scar, were he human, from the gunshot wound that fateful day they’d met. He usually did, amazed with Derek’s flawless skin, that the bullet hole existed only in their memory. Perhaps the full moon affected him, too, because he boldly crossed the porch and brushed his fingertips along Derek’s bare shoulder like he never had before.

“Hmm?”

“Just weird, is all,” Stiles said, a self-conscious smile pulling his lips.

“What is?” Derek kept his back to Stiles—he was naked now—and handed him the bundle of his clothes.

Stiles’ touch lingered a few heartbeats longer before taking Derek’s clothes and shoving them into the backpack. “Just your, um, healing.”

“Still on with that?” Derek teased. “It’s been a long time.”

“Dude, I saw you shot and bleeding. It was kind of a pivotal moment in my life. And, like, there’s no scar. You’re totally fine.”

Derek laughed, bent down, and grabbed his soda. He finished it off, Adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp, and Stiles stared at his moonlit profile instead of, well, anything else. When the glass _thunk’d_ against the wooden porch rail, Stiles jumped.

“Sometimes I wonder if it ever really happened,” he muttered, because it was easier to make conversation than obviously _not_ staring.

“It happened,” Derek sighed. “It totally happened. I’m gonna go ahead and shift. Wanna run with me?”

“Sure,” Stiles said. “Just, like, don’t get too far ahead. I’m human.”

The smirk Derek gave him over his shoulder was positively _devilish_. Then he shifted, and Stiles grimaced when Derek’s bones popped and cracked, rearranging. The hair growth wasn’t so bad—it rippled smoothly from his extending snout down the rest of his body like waves, and sprouted with a sound like torn cotton candy. Soon enough, Derek dropped to all-fours and shook out his coat, resolutely and completely canine.

Biting his lip, Stiles stroked his hand from behind Derek’s pointed ears to his shoulders. “This is so cool. It will never not be cool, dude, I don’t care how many times I see it. And you are _so_ fucking soft.”

Despite nudging up into Stiles’ touch, Derek snorted dismissively, then trotted out of his reach and into the yard. He woofed softly, tail swishing in gentle encouragement.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles groaned. He shrugged on the backpack, then followed Derek into the dark.

 

###

 

“Maybe I should take up running,” Stiles sighed, falling back into the soft grass. “Join the cross-country team or something.” Upon reaching the clearing—their clearing, as Stiles half-teasingly liked to call it—he’d unceremoniously dropped the backpack and flopped onto the ground. He craned his neck to watch Derek’s energetic trot into the meadow. He barked a laugh when Derek pressed his cold nose against his cheek, and dragged his fingers through the thick fur at Derek’s chest. “What?” Stiles asked. “Don’t think I could do it?”

Derek gave a soft, bored woof, then left Stiles to sit beside the backpack.

From the corner of his eye, Stiles watched Derek shift back into his human form; literally his earlier transformation in reverse. Cracking, popping bones were still cringe-worthy sounds, but how Stiles could verbally check if Derek was okay eased his nerves. The backpack conveniently offered Derek a modicum of modesty, but the sight of Derek sitting cross-legged in the moonlight was stunning.

Stiles would never, ever get used to Derek.

“You alright?” Derek asked, amber eyes bright with supernatural concern.

“Yeah,” Stiles lied. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“It’s okay if you’re winded,” Derek teased. “I have a four-legged advantage when I shift. I don’t expect bipedalism to compete.”

“Lucky for me, you can’t shift at a track meet. I might actually have a shot.”

When Derek reached into the backpack, Stiles looked away. Grass crunched and clothing swished. An elastic band snapped. Derek stretched out beside Stiles so their elbows touched, half-dressed with his shirt clutched in one hand. “I thought lacrosse was your game,” he said.

Scoffing, Stiles said, “You’ve seen me play. I’m terrible.”

“You’re like a pup trying to figure out his paws when you’re on the field,” Derek agreed.

“Thanks, Der,” Stiles drawled. “That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

“It’s cute,” Derek offered, “seeing you enjoy yourself.”

Stiles hummed noncommittally, and a comfortable silence filled the space between them afterward. Derek wasn’t particularly talkative, and it was never a problem; Stiles could talk enough for the both of them. But sometimes Stiles liked to fall quiet and listen to the ambience: rustling grass, chirping crickets, Derek’s steady breathing—a rhythm he fell in sync with usually without his knowledge.

But then Derek moved, just an extension of his arm, and touched Stiles’ hair. Gentle, soothing, his fingertips brushed his scalp, and Stiles couldn’t suppress a grin.

“You remember way back when the full moon really messed with you?”

Derek hummed an affirmative. “I didn’t have a lot of control when I was younger.”

“You shredded my favorite pillow during a sleep-over once and showed up at my house half-shifted with the wildest look in your eyes.” The hand in his hair stilled, and Stiles worried he picked old wounds. Though how they were wounds, he didn’t understand. Instead, he continued, “You were fine after you came inside, though. Passed right the hell out the moment you hit my bed. Your mom was so worried…”

“Go where you’re headed, Stiles,” Derek said softly. “You don’t have to meander.”

“Why?”

“Because you can be honest with me. I’d like you to be comfortable enough for that.”

“No,” Stiles said. “I know. I am. Honest. I’m asking about, like, all of that. Why you shredded my pillow, why you were okay in my house. Your mom tried to keep you away, but you kept coming back and…I’ve always wondered why.”

“It’s been years,” Derek murmured.

Years since it happened. Years since Derek had done it. Now, Derek often just showed up whenever, climbing through Stiles’ window to sometimes pass out on the floor or in whatever space was left on the bed after Stiles was sprawled out and asleep. So often, in fact, that it was normal.

It had also been years since his mother passed, but he still thought about her, too.

“I’ve been thinking about it for years.”

Derek chuckled, then resumed petting Stiles’ hair. “Why didn’t you ask me sooner?”

Stiles shrugged. “Never really found a right time.” He hesitated for a heartbeat before saying, “Anyway, you have more control than before. I don’t get why your mom is still so worried.” There was no way Talia didn’t know, Stiles realized. Talia had to know. She was so vigilant, she was such a good mom; she had to know where her baby boy went most nights. Maybe that was why she worried.

“It’s...” Derek sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine,” Stiles said, and he made his tone light despite his curiosity and budding hope. “I was just wondering.”

After pulling away from Stiles’ hair, Derek turned onto his side and leaned on his elbow, resting his head in his hand. When Stiles discreetly leaned towards the warmth of Derek’s broad chest, the wolf simply accommodated the subtle invasion of his space. Reaching for one of Stiles’ hoodie drawstrings, Derek asked, “Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah,” Stiles immediately answered. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Derek shrugged. “It might be, um, intense? It’s a wolf thing.”

Again, a wolf thing. A lot of what Derek did were _wolf things_ , but that didn’t mean Stiles didn’t want to hear about them.

With a laugh, Stiles said, “A lot of your wolf things are intense.” When Derek flushed, unexpectedly mortified, Stiles quickly continued, “But it’s not like I mind. I like it, actually. It’s nice, you know?”

Derek dropped his gaze, his faintly glowing eyes, to the string he wrapped and unwrapped around his finger. With each revolution, his eyes glowed a little brighter, and his fingernail extended a little longer into a claw. “So, the thing that lets us control the shift,” Derek murmured, “the thing that keeps us human—we call it an anchor.”

“Is that the _alpha, beta, omega_ thing?” And Stiles grinned because it felt like he’d figured something out, like he proved to Derek he paid attention.

Flushing a bit deeper, Derek shook his head. “No, not exactly. That’s a—a mantra we teach pups to help keep their focus until they find their anchor. An anchor is a more stable concept to focus on to keep control than the mantra.”

“Well,” Stiles said, “like I said before: your control has gotten way better. So maybe you’ve graduated from mantra to anchor?”

“Yeah, actually,” Derek said candidly. “I have.”

“That’s awesome, dude!” Stiles lightly shoved his shoulder in excitement. “Maybe your mom won’t worry so much now. Have you told her?”

Derek nodded. “She’s known for a while. _I’ve_ known for a while.”

“And you’re just now sharing your werewolf breakthrough with me?” Pouting in mock hurt, Stiles clutched his chest. “Ouch, man.”

With a shake of his head, Derek’s expression collapsed into something like shame. It reminded Stiles of when Derek shredded his pillow, or the night Derek showed up at his house half-shifted and wild. He dropped Stiles’ drawstring and tucked his hand close to his body, fisting his previously discarded shirt. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I should have mentioned it sooner. I should have—”

“Derek,” Stiles interrupted. “I was just teasing. Really. You don’t owe me anything, okay? I’m happy for you, ya know? I know you were worried about control for a while, and this means you’re making progress, right? And that’s great.” Chucking, he added, “You’re growing into a mature were-being. I’m so proud of you.”

“Jesus, you sound like my mother,” Derek grumbled.

“What?” Stiles griped. “I can’t be excited my Shadow’s growing up?”

“Shut up.”

Still grinning, Stiles just watched Derek, just basked in the joy and genuine pride welling in his chest for Derek’s development. Anchors seemed like a werewolf rite of passage, and even if it wasn’t right away, he still felt safe enough to share it with Stiles. His flushed cheeks, the way he bit his lip—as if he wasn’t sure what to do with the praise—only endeared him further to Stiles. “I’m really happy for you,” Stiles said again.

“Yeah,” Derek agreed a little awkwardly. “I am, too.”

“And it’s not intense at all,” Stiles continued. “Like, it makes sense, you know? Needing to focus on something to keep control. I mean, I’ve seen you do the mantra. I’ve seen Laura lead Cora through it, so, like, I get it. Sorta. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, finding your anchor. Unless it’s something super, like, personal that I don’t understand?”

“You haven’t asked me what my anchor is,” Derek commented.

A nervous laugh bubbled from his lips. “Yeah, well, I’m trying not to be nosey,” Stiles said. “In case it is, you know, super personal.”

“That’s unlike you.”

Shrugging, Stiles said, “You’ve always been really up-front with werewolf stuff. Like, you showed up to my house after we met and told me everything about you and your family. If you’re hesitant to tell me about this, you probably have your reasons.”

“I don’t want to freak you out,” Derek said.

“Derek,” Stiles said flatly, “you change shape in front of me. You scent me. I don’t think much could freak me out at this point.”

Stiles’ heart pounded a nervous cadence in his chest, each thump marking another moment of the unfamiliar silence between them. It was awkward, almost, but things were rarely awkward between them. Derek could usually read Stiles’ moods—scent them, really—so he must have known how anxiety slowly sizzled up his spine. Anticipation for Derek’s answer. Fear that he wouldn’t give one.

“You’re my anchor,” Derek said softly, suddenly.

Stiles scoffed, but when Derek’s expression remained as intense as ever, he stammered, “Wait, you’re serious?” Derek’s nod triggered more babbling, “Me? But why? _How?_ ”

Helplessly, Derek shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “My mom said it just sometimes happens. I don’t know why thinking of you, or being around you keeps me human, but it does.” Stiles couldn’t be completely sure, but he knew Derek skirted the truth. Even still, his admission was monumental.

Unable to adequately label or identify the onslaught of half-formed thoughts and swelling emotion, Stiles simply licked his lips and asked, “…is that why your mom…?”

“She worried about how you’d take it,” Derek answered.

That genuinely baffled Stiles, and it was a blessed distraction from his pounding pulse, from hidden meanings his mind and his heart immediately concocted. “What? Why?”

“It can be hard, sometimes,” Derek explained, “for a wolf’s reliance on one anchor to be shifted to another.”

“And she thought I’d, what? Abandon you or something if you told me?” And, wow, he’d never heard anything further from the truth in his life. His face contorted with offense, determination. Stiles grabbed Derek’s shoulder and gave him a light shake. The apprehension in his brilliant eyes was utterly unacceptable. “I’d never, Derek. Do you hear me? I’d never walk away from you over something like this.”

“I know,” Derek said. “I know you wouldn’t. My wolf knows. My mom just…worries.”

“God, Derek, how could—? I just…” Stiles sighed, and scrubbed his face. “You’re my best friend, Der.”

“Scott’s your best friend,” he said reflexively.

“Meh.” Stiles shrugged. “I’m not out running the woods and carrying Scott’s clothes, or, you know, letting Scott sniff me or being Scott’s anchor or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Derek drawled. He leaned low and bumped his nose against Stiles’ temple. “You’re really okay with this? You’re okay with my wolf?”

Stiles reached a hand around Derek to play with the hair at the base of his skull. It soothed him most times when Stiles did it. Touch, he’d learned, was important. “Of course, dude,” he said. “I love wolf-you. You were my favorite pup when I was a kid.”

“And now?”

Stiles shivered, and his grip on Derek’s hair involuntarily tightened, pulling a soft growl from the wolf’s throat. Derek’s eyes flared a bit brighter, and Stiles swallowed thickly. “Still my favorite,” he managed after a few tense moments.

Leaning a little closer, Derek murmured, “Would it be okay if I—?”

“Yes,” Stiles breathed. “Whatever it is, yes.”

Derek smiled just before he kissed him. Just a gentle press of his soft lips, catching lightly on Stiles’ bottom lip.

His fingers tingled with settling numbness. They felt disconnected from him as they combed Derek’s hair and pulled him a little closer. Derek leaned further over Stiles, all but pinning him, and gripped the lapel of Stiles’ hoodie tightly. When Stiles’ breath hitched, Derek pressed harder into the kiss, licking tentatively at Stiles’ lip; he tasted like orange soda. Soon Derek was a grounding, solid weight between Stiles’ spread knees, limbs that had fallen open of their own accord. His bare chest was warm even through the layers of Stiles’ clothes.

Derek stoked his cheek with his thumb, the digit ending in a wicked claw that made Stiles tremble with excitement instead of fear. When he pulled away, he stayed close as they shared a few rapid breaths.

In the distance, a chorus of wolves howled.

Stiles’ face heated with embarrassment. “Are they calling you home or cheering for you?”

With a soft chuckle, Derek nuzzled Stiles. “Maybe a bit of both.” He kissed him again, quick and sincere. “Want to stay the night?”

“I’ll call my dad when we get back to your place.”

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1: [Prompt 27: Binoculars.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6262696)  
> Part 3: [A Night Hunt](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6604321)
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr: [foxtricks](http://foxtricks.tumblr.com/)


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